


Winter Wind

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Classical Music, Cold War, Established Relationship, F/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: When winter’s frigid breath drifted over Austria’s land once again, Russia visited him for the first time in years.





	Winter Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a challenge on the Hetalia Amino app! Historical notes are at the end. Additionally, Austria isn't always the most objective narrator here, especially when it comes to Russia (albeit with good reason), so keep that in mind when you read. 
> 
> Chopin's Étude Op. 25, No. 11: Published in 1837; it's also known as "Winter Wind".

December, 1956 – Austria’s house

When winter’s frigid breath drifted over Austria’s land once again, Russia visited him for the first time in years.

For Austria, December had always conjured falling, powdery snow and the gradual cooling of the air. That year was no exception, but he found the creeping winter especially appropriate, given the chilly climate of the Cold War. 

With America’s help, Austria had been able to rise from the wreckage of the Second World War and start anew. In return he stood on America’s side, approved of what America wanted, and opposed what America hated – and in so doing, irreparably tore himself from Hungary’s loving embrace. 

If she had a choice, Austria had no doubt that Hungary would join him. They were two halves of a whole; even if Austro-Hungary was no more, their love persisted, and their hearts were still connected. Yet they both had to play the hand they were dealt, and it seemed that fate was determined to keep Austria and Hungary apart. 

On their shared border stood an electric fence that forcibly divided them. Able to see Hungary yet unable to reach her, Austria could only watch helplessly as his beloved slowly wilted, growing thin and tired over the passing years. 

And then there was the aftermath of the Hungarian Uprising.

Her jaw was bruised black and blue, her cheek scarred in a long, jagged line, and her lips reddened by blood. Yet Hungary smiled through her tears, and raised her arm to reach him only to let it fall in vain; she murmured, “I love you,” in a sad little voice, and Austria wept. 

There was no way that he could forgive the Soviet Union for hurting the woman he loved.

So, when Russia himself appeared outside Austria’s door barely a month after the incident, Austria was in no mood to welcome him.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Austria demanded, steeling himself for a fight he knew he couldn’t win. 

“Ah, Austria! I really should not be here, because I have a meeting in a few hours, but I simply had to come! I was having a talk with my sister Ukraine the other day, you see –”

“Go away.” His voice trembled, struggling to contain his fear and his anger. Austria stood resolutely in the doorway, attempting to pour every ounce of his contempt into an icy glare. 

But Russia was used to the cold. “It is a long way from my place to yours, _da_? You are not going to allow me to leave empty-handed, are you?” Drawing closer with a light, bouncy step, Russia placed a large hand on Austria’s shoulder. 

It felt like the winter had swept into his bones, sucking all the warmth from his body. Austria shivered. If Russia attacked him, Austria knew he didn’t stand a chance. A part of him stubbornly insisted on opposing the other man, but he knew that Hungary wouldn’t want him to be hurt. The thought of her was comforting – some measure of calm settled over Austria, and he took a deep breath. 

“What do you want?” he asked, looking Russia in the eye. The other man smiled cheerfully. 

“Like I said, I was talking to my sister Ukraine about music, and she said that you were a great musician! Is that true?” Tilting his head, Russia watched Austria with an almost childlike curiosity. 

Years ago, Austria had played the piece “Katyusha” for Ukraine – it was her favourite of Russia’s folk songs. It seemed an act of friendship had led to the bad situation that Austria now found himself in.

“What about it?” he asked, trying to stall for time. If someone, _anyone_ happened to pass by, Austria would be able to shut his door on Russia with less chance of the other man doing something violent in return. That was all he could hope, anyway – that Russia was rational enough to control himself in front of others.

Yet it became apparent that luck was not on Austria’s side – he distantly remembered that the numerous Hungarian refugees were at a gathering of some sort, which was why the place was deserted. 

“Could you play something for me too?” Russia’s voice, light and excited, floated through the cold air like a drifting snowflake. 

It wasn’t really a question. There was no way that Austria could turn Russia down and be unharmed. 

So Austria looked around to see that they were truly alone, sighed, and said, “Yes.” Turning, he stepped back into his home, watching warily as Russia invaded it.

When Russia made to close the door, Austria stopped him. “Leave it open,” he said. That way, if anything happened to Austria, enough noise might be made that someone would be alarmed and call the police.

“But the wind is coming in,” said Russia, obeying him nonetheless. He followed Austria to the grand piano sitting in the living room, and took a seat nearby.

“I like the winter wind,” said Austria, raising the fallboard and sweeping the long, red dust cover from the keys. “It reminds me of this.” Having folded the dust cover into a square, Austria put it aside and sat down.

His fingers shook, and his hands were stiff and cold. Yet Austria didn’t care. For once in his lifetime, the quality of his playing was of no importance to him. 

All that mattered was showing Russia how much he _hated_ him.

Raising his hands, Austria delicately pressed the keys. The first soft notes of Chopin’s Etude Op. 25 no 11 were suspended in the air, stately and solemn and deceptively gentle. The phrase ended on an unfulfilling minor chord, and Austria closed his eyes. 

Yes. This was the right piece to play. His fingers itched to begin, and his heart raced in anticipation. 

Austria took a breath, opened his eyes, and unleashed Chopin’s “Winter Wind” upon the cold air.

Hurtling down the keyboard, his right hand furiously worked to keep up with his pounding heart. The wind screamed out as Austria ploughed through each note, scattering them in every direction – he slammed a single piercing chord before his right hand set out once again, clattering on the keys as it raced from one end of the keyboard to the other. 

What guided him was not the music. It was his anger, attacking the notes and raking the melody through Russia’s cold, closed eyes, prising them open so he could see just how much Austria despised him.

His fingers, stiff with the cold, slipped on the keys, and the wind grew wilder and uncontrollable, rising and ebbing in turn, expanding and shrinking at once. Let it be, Austria thought, let him hear how I feel. If the dissonance hurt Russia, then he would be even more dissonant. 

A gentler, happier wind temporarily tamed his anger, and for a moment the notes grew wistful. Austria thought of Hungary – her warm skin, her beautiful eyes and her long, tumbling hair – and the melody warmed with the memory. Gradually, his playing grew elegant instead of enraged, and Austria smiled.

Then, he remembered the pain in her eyes, and the wind picked up insistently; twice, his hands raced from both ends of the keyboard to meet in a chord, and then Austria paused. Three notes sounded once, then twice, and then Austria’s left hand rushed down the keyboard as the wind howled Hungary’s name. 

The music returned to a familiar phrase, and Austria launched his right hand up and down the keys once again. His hands ached and he didn’t know how long he could keep it up – yet the winter wind shrieked all around him, and Austria simply couldn’t stop. 

As the piece drew to a close, both his hands hammered deep, bellowing chords, and the wind growled with the music. The air was freezing, but Austria’s heart burned with rage, and he would not let it go unheard.

Together his hands hurtled up the keyboard once more and the wind screamed – then, in an instant, died with the cry of the last note. 

Withdrawing his hands, Austria tried to steady his quick breathing. What he’d just played had to be the worst interpretation of Chopin ever to grace the piano. If he cared more, he’d be ashamed of himself, but for once the quality of his playing didn’t matter. Shaking slightly, Austria dared to turn and meet Russia’s gaze.

The smile on Russia’s face was frozen – his eyes looked straight into Austria’s own, but his expression was unreadable. After a few moments, Russia seemed to remember something, and his smile grew wider. 

“Ah, I was so surprised that I forgot to applaud you!” Rising imposingly, Russia began to clap, and with slow, heavy steps, he closed the distance between them. 

…This was it, then. Even if he ran, there was no way that he could escape. Austria’s hands tightened on the piano stool. If Hungary could suffer this, then surely he –

“ _Gott_ , Austria, why on earth did you leave your door –?” 

A new voice interrupted the steady rhythm of Russia’s clapping. Recognising its owner instantly, Austria felt waves of relief flow over him as he turned to see a shocked Switzerland standing a few metres away.

His childhood friend had an arm full of what seemed like groceries, which he quickly placed on the floor to free his hands. Eyes darting between Austria and Russia, Switzerland seemed to be forming his own conclusions about the situation.

“Did you come to join us, Switzerland?” Russia asked, his voice eerily upbeat. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Switzerland visibly tensed. 

“No,” he said, his hand moving toward a bulge in his coat pocket. “I was on my way back from shopping nearby.”

Yet, Switzerland took a step forward, clearly not intending to leave. “But you should go,” he said, glaring at Russia. “I don’t know what you were planning on doing, but know that you’re not in the Soviet Union at the moment, and I won’t stand idly by while you threaten Austria in his own house.”

A silence louder than Austria’s playing momentarily fell upon them. Blinking in confusion, Russia frowned, and tilted his head. “Why, I was not threatening Austria. I was simply about to pat him on the back for a great performance,” he said.

“You should leave,” Switzerland replied, his voice firm. He reached into his pocket, and his hand closed on something within.

A few tense seconds passed as Russia and Switzerland stared each other down. A bright smile confronted a wary frown; Russia effortlessly loomed over everyone, but Switzerland stood ready to fight him off. 

The standoff ended abruptly when Russia gave in with a nonchalant nod. “ _Da_. I have a meeting later – I should really be heading back.” His eyes met Austria’s, and he said, “My sister Ukraine was right. You really are a great musician!”

It seemed that Austria’s surprise was shared equally by Switzerland, who responded by adjusting his stance – both of them watched Russia closely as he turned and left. The cold air that Russia had brought in lingered unpleasantly in the room, and Austria shuddered. He wondered if his hatred had even registered in Russia’s cold heart – if the man’s non-reaction was any indication, it seemed that Austria had failed. 

Within moments, Switzerland rounded on Austria angrily, closing the distance between them in several agitated steps. “What were you thinking,” he exclaimed, eyes bright with furious concern, “letting Russia into your house like that?” 

Walking to his front door, Austria closed and locked it. “He asked me to play the piano for him – I’d opened the door already, so I couldn’t very well shut it on him. Anyway, I’m sorry for worrying you, and thank you so much for helping me out just now. I’m very grateful.”

“I _wasn’t_ worried,” Switzerland corrected quickly. He had followed Austria out of the living room. “I couldn’t care less about you. I’m just amazed that you were stupid enough to willingly let Russia enter your home, and…and…argh! Why didn’t you check who it was before you opened the door, you idiot?” 

He had a point. 

“I suppose I should have,” said Austria. 

Switzerland glared at him, and moved to pick up his groceries.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “If this ever happens to you again, I am not lifting a finger to help you.” 

Despite his harsh words, Switzerland paused before the door and appeared to calm down. Hesitating for some reason, he turned to face Austria with an oddly conflicted expression on his normally stern face.

“That said, are you…” In contrast to the resolve he’d displayed when facing Russia, Switzerland seemed strangely uncertain; he glanced at Austria for a moment before looking away awkwardly.

“What is it, _Schweiz_?” Austria prompted.

The sound of his name in a familiar language visibly surprised Switzerland, and his gaze softened. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Russia didn’t hurt me,” said Austria. After all, the person who’d truly suffered the wrath of the Soviet Union wasn’t him.

It was the woman he loved.

“That’s good, but I…” Switzerland paused, and cleared his throat. “I was listening to your playing. But only because I was passing by and your door was open.”

So that was why he was asking about Austria’s well being. “I now understand your concern. Yes, my playing was terrible –”

“That’s not true,” Switzerland said, interrupting him. “I liked it.”

It had to be the first time in centuries that Austria’s childhood friend had approved of anything he had done. Before Austria could ask Switzerland if _he_ was all right, the other man flushed, and carried on.

“Yes, it wasn’t perfect, but that doesn’t matter. The thing is, it was very…raw. Which isn’t like you. That’s why I asked you if you were alright.” Shifting where he stood, Switzerland watched Austria intently.

Wondering what Switzerland planned to do if he responded in the negative, Austria nodded. “I’m fine.”

“If there’s more I can do to help with your refugee situation, give me a call. I’ll bring it up with my boss.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Unlocking the door, Austria opened it for Switzerland, who stepped out into the snow. 

Yet, Switzerland hesitated once again, and turned to look Austria in the eye.

“Take care of yourself, _Österreich_.” 

With that he left, and Austria watched as his childhood friend disappeared around a corner. “You too,” he said, thinking of Switzerland and Hungary and all the people he cared about. 

All Austria could do was to have hope, and believe that things would turn out all right in the end. 

Only then would the winter wind dissolve into a spring breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical notes (credits: Wikipedia, AskHistorians Reddit, Spiegel Online, and The Institute of Human Sciences):
> 
> America helping Austria to rebuild: This is a reference to the Marshall Plan, which saw America giving financial aid to many European countries to help them recover from the devastation of WW2. Unofficially, America’s intention was to make Europeans happy with their standard of living so that they’d be satisfied with capitalism and not be swayed by communism. 
> 
> Austria in the Cold War: While it was militarily neutral, and never joined either the American or Soviet bloc, Austria “politically and culturally [aligned] itself with the West”. America also “flooded Austria with programs and materials” to culturally integrate Austria with the West, sealing this process. Austria was also rather anti-communist politically. In conclusion, my interpretation is that while it was technically neutral, Austria seems to have unofficially swung towards the American bloc. (That’s what I got from it, anyway – if this isn’t correct, please tell me in the comments)
> 
> The Electric Border Fence: I couldn’t find much on this – it definitely existed (and yes it actually was electric), and its removal near the end of the Cold War was symbolic of the normalising of relations between the Western and Eastern blocs, but I’m not quite sure when it went up. I’m just assuming that, since Austria and Hungary were both Axis powers for most of WW2, the border fence was erected sometime after WW2. This is, uh, also consistent with the fanfics I’ve read featuring that fence, haha. 
> 
> Why Hungary couldn’t visit Austria: It seems that Hungarians were only allowed to travel where they wished in 1988. But beyond that, I feel like Russia (the character) and his bosses wouldn’t be too pleased if Austria and Hungary freely interacted with each other in a conspicuous way, so Hungary likely held back for political reasons as well. At any rate, I headcanon that the East and West blocs weren’t supposed to interact much with each other, due to pressure from Russia and America. 
> 
> The Hungarian Uprising/Revolution of 1956: A revolt against the Hungarian government and its Soviet-influenced policies – it broke out on the 23rd of October and ended on the 10th of November. Soviet troops killed over 2500 Hungarians, and another 200,000 fled as refugees. 
> 
> Austria’s refugee crisis of 1956: While it welcomed the Hungarians with open arms, Austria was unable to hold all of them, and urgently asked for help from other European countries. Initially, aid wasn’t very forthcoming – Switzerland was the only country to accept refugees without examination, for example. (Other countries might have done so later – I’m not sure.) I believe the situation had improved slightly in mid-December (when this fic is set), but it likely wasn’t a huge improvement. (On an unrelated note, I read a pretty good fic about this entire incident somewhere on deviantart – I’m not sure how to find it, though.)


End file.
